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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30146274">I can be your family, we can be your family</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViseniiaTheYoung/pseuds/ViseniiaTheYoung'>ViseniiaTheYoung</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aegon VI Targaryen and Jon Snow are Siblings, Aegon is a fool for Arya, Death in Childbirth, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, King Aegon VI Targaryen, Pregnant Arya Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-04-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 12:01:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,583</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30146274</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViseniiaTheYoung/pseuds/ViseniiaTheYoung</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They met as Young Griff and Mercy, passengers of the Free Cities. </p><p>Yet, what made her so mysterious, and dangerous, is what brought an exiled forgotten prince into the depths of Arya Stark many faces. All he had ever wanted was a family, and all she wants is vengeance.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arya Stark/Aegon VI Targaryen, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen (past)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I can be your family, we can be your family</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>SO YES, I will continue my others fics. This is a one shot I made cuz one of my first favorites asoiaf rare pairs are this two. (besides Sansaegon) Well, the thing is that I did write a lot of things, yet I couldn’t find the inspiration to finish them. The other day I came with this idea of ‘Hey, what about if Aegon/Arya met as Young Griff and one of Arya’s many names’. But of course, the story doesn’t starts until much later. I gave only small hints, but we’ll discuss it later. </p><p>I hope you like it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I once knew a girl </em>
</p><p>
  <em>half-horse, half-wolf</em>
</p><p>
  <em>with a blade as sharp as stone </em>
</p><p>
  <em>and was faceless - faithless.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>                            -  Young Griff. </em><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>King Aegon VI enters his chambers, rubbing the back of his neck, tired. Tilting the head, he can see the swelled sun setting over the Blackwater, pouring red and orange lights to the solitary apartments, wrapping the tapestry of the three-headed dragon in blood-warm colors. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Sighing, he goes to the antechamber, seeking some privacy and ‘with a mountain of unread scrolls waiting’. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Some of them he reads, important matters of succession after the devastation the wars left. <em>The wars...</em> A handful were his fault, others were already in the making by the time he set foot on the continent that was his by birth, and that was taken from him before he could walk. Some, he left untouched, a stack of them already. It was from his kin, the Martells. <em>They are wondering when I’m gonna take Arianne to bride.</em> Their loyalty must be paid. He was, after all, a stranger to the lot of them. A nephew- long dead until he wasn’t -, who appeared on a dragon’s back in the dunes of Dorne. He had felt almost happy, with this people. They had welcomed him to their home and had gave him more hugs than he has ever received. They cared about him because he was the son of Elia, and that was enough to him, but not to them. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>How mistaken he was. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Aegon hears a noise in the principal chamber, raises an eyebrow, brushes the silver curls of his forehead and removes the golden coronet of crown. His eyes never strayed from the monthly report Robin Arryn has sent him from the Vale. He has read the new lords ‘and lady’ Paramounts letters, Willas Tyrell the top of the list. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“I knew you would come.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Did you?” The musky feminine voice answers, unsurprised. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“I always know,” He shot up his head to meet her. “Arya.” </p><p> </p><p>The slender girl smirked, and he bathed in her presence. Her cheeks are full, he noted. She was wearing a square-cut dark tunic and pants. She has always been like this. Arya liked to dress as she seemed fit. Sometimes, in more light years, he found her wearing knee-length <em>skirts</em>, which he had to blink twice and inflict pain on his arm. “You let your hair grow,” He pointed out flatly despite the lump in his throat. Three moons have passed since the last time they saw each other face to face. The day he took the Red Keep from the Mad Queen Cersei, avoiding a catastrophe. She attempted to burst the city into wild green flames, Cersei had. <em>It seems that the fire-burning tendency skips a generation of monarchs. I hope this ends with me. <br/>
<br/>
</em></p><p>“Ah,” she touched her middle-length hair. “This. It’s been growing incredible fast lately.” She shifted on her quick feet, moving within the room. She put a hand on his desk, giving him a brief look and then worrying her lower lip. “And you do play the part of a royal now,” She turned around, untamed hair rushing. His breath caught as the smell of winter, woods and freedom overwhelmed his nostrils. The King crashed his teeth, averting the sigh of relief and the pressure of his trousers. His cheeks reddened at the impure thoughts. <em>Behave, Aegon. You aren’t a green boy in a boat anymore. You are a king. The king of the lands. <br/>
<br/>
</em></p><p>“Huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes...” She moved to lit the candles. “To be honest, I never saw you as the, <em>uhm</em>, kingly type.”</p><p> </p><p>He rolled his eyes. “Not that you were much a lady those days. In fact, I remember you had <em>many faces</em>, Arya Stark. </p><p> </p><p>Arya chuckled darkly. “You’re really pissed, aren’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>Aegon put the ink and paper to the side, almost snapping the substance all over his letters. “Pissed is not enough, Arya. Have you forgotten what happened that night, the evening we won the capital?” <br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>She looked away. </p><p> </p><p>“I have not.” </p><p> </p><p>“Good, neither do I.” </p><p> </p><p>“I had no option, Aegon.” The she-wolf hissed. “I always dreamt of going home after...” her voice faltered a second. Her silver eyes were wary, and calm. “After the events that drove me to you, in time. The ones who turned me into a Faceless Man, into hundreds of people and no one at all.” <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“You know as well as I do that I don’t have the right, nor I want to either, to coerce your mind. You have always been your own person, and as someone who’s only home has been nothing but ash, I can understand you, truly. As I have told you so a thousand times over. I only asked you to stay with me, to be with me at my side. Yet, you left, and left.” </p><p> </p><p>Her eyes showed emotion for the first time. </p><p> </p><p>“And I’m sorry for leaving you. But I had to quell my thirst for vengeance.” <em>Sounds like it. <br/>
</em></p><p> </p><p>Understanding drawn in his face. “So it was you.” </p><p> </p><p>“It was me. I had- Are you <em>disappointed</em> in me?” </p><p> </p><p>Aegon stood up from the armchair, long legs giving long steps to her. He took her large chin with two lithe fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not disappointed, Arya. We had talked of this, haven’t we? Of how we were gonna kill our family’s murderers, the people who has done us harm. You whipped off the entire Frey male line, grotesque to some but not to me. Because I know you.” </p><p> </p><p>They had met a few years back, in Braavos. Aegon was playing the part of a mercenary, sun in his eyes and hair dyed blue. He came upon this high-courtier of striking stormy grey eyes and a scalp full of blonde hair. <em>It was odd</em>, he thought at first glance when they ran into each other in a tavern. He knew that something was off with this girl. Not because of her status, ‘she had the pieces, then what was she doing in a lowborn place?’ The face she wore didn’t <em>suit</em> her at all, as if it were only a masquerade. His second thoughts were always right and never proved wrong. She had something dangerous and wild, and perhaps her mysterious personality drove him everyday to that tavern again, and everyday he found her in the table placed at the corner, alone. One moon passed and his due date to depart was nearing. He wrote to Jon Connington about ‘business complications’. The truth was that he was fawning over a girl from Braavos who’s name was Mercy. She came with him, a small sweet smile on her rosy lips. He still remembers how he pressed his mouth against hers for the first time, her hands on his hair. </p><p> </p><p>Then he learned to see past the lie. And when he came to the realization that she wasn’t what she claimed to be, she already knew who he truly was. “Not Young Griff, but something more,” Mercy told him with an unfamiliar accent. “A prince or a king?” </p><p> </p><p>He was so scared that the last wit failed him, unconsciously reaching for his dagger. But the girl had slammed him on the cold walls, a thin sword against his pale neck. He swallowed, blue-violet eyes narrowing. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t move, prince.” </p><p> </p><p>“It’s not like I have an option, really.” </p><p> </p><p>Mercy ripped her face, and he stared terrified at her. Only to find, staring with equally wonder, the pretty face of another girl. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Who’s name was <em>Arya Stark</em>, the wolf. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Why are you here?” Aegon asked a half-beat away from her provocative lips. </p><p> </p><p>She leaned into him, chin tucked in his chest, almond-shaped eyes of steel looking directly into his soul. She knew that her presence made him weak, for all his military power, political backup and sharp mind. He was mighty, the dragon king is, but when he came face to face with Arya Stark, he felt so small, so soft and numb. He felt dumbstruck by love. The notion scary. </p><p> </p><p>He <em>loves</em> her. And he came to terms with it. He knew the nature of his feelings before she did. Arya was, probably is, the best <em>assassin</em> in the world, yet was deaf and blind and stubborn as a mule when the subject of romance was brought up. She was good at slaying lies, read people’s mind and soul as an open book, yet she did not know how to decode her own soul. For most of her life, the only thing that she yearned was death. Death to her enemies, death to wrecked people, death to those who forgot that the north remembers. Vengeance was a poison to the heart, he knew, for there was a dark part in him that wistfully wishes to exterminate all the Lannisters, the cousins included. Those who are buried in their rusty caves of gold.</p><p> </p><p>Yet his common sense, the cool part of him, doesn’t allows it. There’s too much <em>fire</em> in his <em>blood</em>. The spicy venom from his mother’s family, and the bringer of death, tears and fear that was his family’s words. The continent has wept tears of blood for them. Twice in a row. Yet, Aegon has learned what was misery, hunger and uncertainty. <em>Loneliness</em> and <em>sadness</em>. As many lost princes and princesses before him. He was raised to be many things, a king among them but first he was a sailor, part of the fisherfolk and a mercenary. He never afforded the life of the Baratheon princes, now rotting in the ground while he was not. </p><p> </p><p>He locked all his anger and hate into a cage, then threw the key into the darkest of abysses. When the only father he has ever known perished, the dragon threatened to awake from its slumber. <em>Another person who left me behind and moved forward.</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Without me. <br/>
</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I am sorry about Jon,” Arya whispered. “I know that you loved him deeply.”</p><p> </p><p>Aegon frowned, eyes becoming <em>distant</em>. He heard her sighing in regret. He removed his arms from her as if her touch burned him. He turned again, putting some distance between them. He was deeply hurt, betrayed. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, when you left, he followed you quickly. Only that he never returned, and you did.” </p><p> </p><p>Arya and Jon Connington weren’t <em>enemies</em> but they didn’t like each other. They couldn’t coexist in the same room, at first. When he returned to the manse in Pentos, the fatherly smile faltered as he saw a ghost trailing behind him. “She is the niece of Lyanna Stark, are you aware of it?” But he never bore such <em>devotion</em> for his mother Elia. The urge to defend her honor was hypocritical when he only did it out of spite. Because his father chose another over him, the friend outcasted in the shadows, a good companion who naively hoped for their friendship to become something else, stronger and forbidden by the laws of men. Jon never recovered from Rhaegar’s death. </p><p> </p><p>“I went <em>home</em>,” She crushed her face in his back, hands circling his strong chest. The spots where she was touching him burned, and the warmth spread so fast that it surprised him how quickly his body overreacted against his orders. <em>As if the mind holds any control when it comes to the matters of the heart.</em> The first time they laid, she had ridden him, small hands pressing into his chest as they did now. </p><p> </p><p>“And,” he found eagerness in his voice. Despite all his resentment, he felt happy for her. When the news reached them that some of the <em>death</em> Starks came to <em>life</em>, ‘figurative speaking because they never died’, he felt genuinely cheerful, though with it came the sting of jealousy, a thought that shamed him later and she understood perfectly when he shared his opinion, caressing her calloused hands while they watched the sunset, sitting at the docks of the boat whilst the tides were merciful with them, or the god who mastered them. <em>Alas, my family will not appear out of the mist.</em> <em>They’ve been dead far longer than I’ve been alive</em>. “How did it go? Where you able to <em>find</em> home?” </p><p> </p><p>“My brother Jon once told me...” Arya said carefully, tightening his grip on him when his frown deepened. <em>Cousin</em>, he wanted to correct the translation. But how could he? They were siblings in all but name, and Aegon was just a <em>foreign</em> half-brother who came out of nowhere. If it weren’t for Howland Reed and a few other of witnesses, ‘Ser Barristan Selmy’, then he would think of Jon Snow as the <em>bastard</em> brother of <em>his</em> Arya. “That different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. And whilst I found my way back, everything changed. Sansa, Bran and even Jon. He’s changed, you know. Since Queen Daenerys died, he seems... lost.” </p><p> </p><p>Another Targaryen lost in the world. It has become an habit by now. He never met his aunt, the Queen of half the Free Cities, <em>former</em>, he guesses. Her fateful end was hard to digest, with all her hopes for a better world. Though, what would have happened with two claimants to <em>one</em> throne? Two Targaryens against one, probably <em>fake</em> at their eyes. A babe who was saved from the savagery of King’s Landing, raised by almost legends mentioned in antebellum books, or houses lineage. Their story already made, and believed to be long gone from this cruel world.</p><p> </p><p>“But you left,” <em>Them... <br/>
</em></p><p> </p><p>“Yes. I will forever cherish my <em>memories with them</em>, my lady mother and my lord father. They are my pack, and it always sticks together. But I have someone else too now.” </p><p> </p><p>“Who?” His heart was galloping in his chest. A bitter feeling settled in his gut. “Is it the Baratheon blacksmith who calls you ‘ m’lady high? ’  ”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” She heard how unsettled she was. Maybe he overstepped a little. “<em>Stupid</em>. It is <em>you</em>.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to smack his hand all over his face. ‘Oh, oh?’ Certainly not the most clever choice of words. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah...” </p><p> </p><p>Before long, they were laughing together, eyes sparkling. He missed her smile, the sincere one and not the almost cynical, practiced one. Her face could lit a thousand of halls when it came natural. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Your faces lightens when you smile with your cocky white teeth</em>,” She once told him, drunk as they were in the cabin, naked after fucking all night. “<em>Pretty boy.</em>” He knew that he was handsome, beautiful even, if modest. He inherited <em>everything</em> from Rhaegar, the otherworldly Silver Prince. Well everything but the character. Aegon did brood for his dreams were infested by cold dead eyes, bodies wrapped in blood and dragons <em>dying</em>, dragons <em>rising</em>, dragons <em>falling</em>. </p><p> </p><p>“So, how did you get past the goldcloaks, the castle folk, and my Kingsguards?” Aegon pressed his thumb against her lips. Electricity instantly whizzed throughout his body. From the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Arya <em>licked</em> her lips, however, tongue coyly touching the tip of his fingers. There was nothing pure or innocent of that boldly move.</p><p> </p><p>“You already know,” She replied with a feline smile. “King Aegon.” </p><p> </p><p>The next thing he knew, is that their mouths married into each other, his own tongue on her throat. She bit her lips and he moaned, half-pained, half-hard already. And she, wild and volatile, lost it. Arya jumped into his arms, slender legs on his hips and hands in his neck, their flushes pressed. She was groaning loudly, savagely tugging the bottoms of his velvet doublet. He paid for the thing, ‘and the wardrobe’ a small fortune. So when the cloth slipped off his body and fell to the floor, damaged beyond repaired, Aegon did appreciate it, ‘in a mourning way’. As if reading his thoughts, she rolled her eyes and swung her hips, pressing her hot core against his shaft. Her nails brushed his hair, breathless. “Well, we are a little sensible, don’t you think?” She has always been composed, holding her pleasure for as long as she could, until he threw her off a cliff before following her in tow.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up and move!” </p><p> </p><p>Aegon did as he was told. Good gods, he really did miss her. </p><p> </p><p>He deposited her on the spacious bed, <em>the</em> <em>king’s bed</em>, he mused. Arya donned off her laced clothes, eyes taking over his appearance. He has always been lithe of constitution, and broader in the shoulders. He had some muscle before, but now with the daily training, he has more, torso defined and well sculpted. “You’re looking good,” Her mouth watered. </p><p> </p><p>“Am I now, love?” </p><p> </p><p>He took her by the toes and dragged her to the edge of the bed, the silky white sheets rolling. She <em>giggled</em>. “What’s wrong with you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever you mean?” She pushed herself up by using her elbows. </p><p> </p><p>Aegon grunted, spreading her legs open. His cock pulsed at the view. She was dripping. He could smell her arousal, and that drove him mad. Aegon caressed himself, showing off. Arya only stared and stared while he waited and waited. She would normally be at the <em>top</em>, and he didn’t mind, for she proved to be a bruising rider. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck yes.” </p><p> </p><p>Arya was never like this. Which is weird. She had every move carefully <em>calculated</em>, bed sports included. </p><p> </p><p>A <em>primal</em> feeling washed over Aegon. All the tension accumulated coming to an apotheosis. Thus, he nestled his hands in her hips, leaned forward, thrusting into her with a sharp, powerful move. Arya cried out, hands folding in his strong arms. He settled a quickly pace, each time pounding furiously. </p><p> </p><p>“Uhm, harder,” she begged him, “There, there. Oh- ”</p><p> </p><p>He pitched her breasts and she screamed in pure ecstasy. They won’t last, he knows. This isn’t lovemaking. This is fucking, the furious, mind blowing one. Aegon grabbed the back of her legs and threw them into his upper-arms, creating more friction. Arya was a mess of moans and wanton sobs, more strange even. But Aegon couldn’t rationalize when his cock touched something deep inside her, and the way she was tighter than usual... “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” She clenched so deliciously that it almost hurts. </p><p> </p><p>His eyes rolled to the back of his head and the most beautiful sound came from her lips, moaning in his ear. Their climax hit them both, the <em>pinnacle</em> of pleasure. Strong bursts of white seed coated her insides, the she-wolf sighing contently as her lover rolled off her, bodies covered in sweat, black spots in her vision. So drunk of pleasure she was that she didn’t notice when he turned to his side, hiding his face from her, desperately trying to catch his breath. </p><p> </p><p>“Aegon,” she called him, but he didn’t show signs that he heard her. “What’s wrong?” </p><p> </p><p>In a small voice, the king spoke. “I know what comes next, and I know what your answer will be. It’s always the same, isn’t it?” Arya grimaced when she raised herself from the bedding, limbs already <em>sore</em>. “I ask you to stay, and probably that’s a mistake because you <em>hate</em> the life that I am offering you. I can’t force you to be with me...” She silenced him by putting a finger to his mouth. He stared at her, wide-eyed. </p><p><br/>
“My father.... he used to tell me that I will marry a high lord and rule his castle. That I will birth him children. I told him ‘<em>no, that’s not me</em>’. And in some way, my prospects haven’t changed at all. But I do love you, Aegon Targaryen. And to be with you, I have to stare at the bigger picture. You asked me once what would I do after I defeat my enemies. I told you that I would go <em>home</em>. I have, but I <em>haven’t</em>. For if there is a thing that I wish more than vengeance, it is family. A family with you, stupid. <em>I can be your family</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Arya...”</p><p> </p><p>She took his hand in hers, the contrast visible. Then, the unexpected happened. She put it in her belly. “<em>We can be your family.</em>” </p><p> </p><p>It all makes sense now. The roundness in her cheeks, her sensibility, and now that his hand is rubbing her stomach; a small, nearly imperceptible <em>curve</em>. </p><p> </p><p>“You-”</p><p> </p><p>“I am,” she smiled with her eyes. “I suppose the <em>dragon</em> <em>seed</em> is <em>strong</em>. Not even the moon tea stopped it from taking root. I thought it was weak, you know? After all, you are the only one who got the classical looks.” </p><p> </p><p>A child. Arya was with child. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>My child. <br/>
<br/>
</em>
</p><p><em>“</em>How?” </p><p> </p><p>“Stupid, you know how.” Her faced turned mischievous. “In the tent, the day before the attack. Me on my belly, you behind. Do I need to give more specified details?” </p><p> </p><p>“I think we have perturbed Duck’s sweet dreams for eternity.” </p><p> </p><p>The northern beauty laughed at the top of her lungs. “He should’ve minded his own business then,” Aegon looked at her with adoration. She disliked been told that she was pretty, except that she indeed was. Her hair was growing now, though she still had the bangs, glued to her forehead by the sweat. A fleeting memory flashed through his mind, one both sad and cheesy. She convinced him of traveling to Summerhall, Arya had, soon after their arrival at Storm’s End. His councilors advised him wisely, and he knew they had an argument for each reason brought up into the table, very perspicuos reasons. Yet, a part of him liked to spoil her.</p><p> </p><p>At dawn, they saddled the horses, concurrent looks as they took off, leaving royal guards and <em>bootlicking</em> lords behind. Aegon always loved a good adventure, he even dreamt of sailing to the still boiling ruins of Valyria. He was bound to settle with the River Rhoyne and the abandoned city, ruined as well as cursed. He has been close to be doomed, he remembered. Arya saved his ass, and the imp Tyrion, but he gave the credit to Arya. “<em>Watch out, pretty boy. It would be a grotesque picture if you sit on the Iron Throne with an arse made of stone.</em>” His pride was hurt, a bit, but shrugged it off. Girls will always be stronger. And this one was everything but a weak doe. Or a damsel in distress. He would never imply it. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>If that were to happen, you sure will throw yourself from the biggest tower, yes? You shan’t never find another like me,</em>” he made the suggestion clear to everyone. Tyrion Lannister raised an eyebrow at the Stark girl. He has gotten many reactions from her, but never did she saw her blushing, ashamed by the public. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Can’t you mind you tongue, idiot?!</em>” Arya yelled later. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>You certainly won’t complain when I don’t mind my tongue,</em>” he twisted his lips upwards. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Aegon, you fuck-</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Yes, honey, your fucker</em>.” </p><p> </p><p>The she-wolf was speechless. He won the argument.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not that he wasn’t exited, it would be a great lie. But this place was said to have been the <em>favorite</em> of Prince Rhaegar. The young king has had rebellious phases, some of them lasting years. In his youth, he never came to terms with the ideal of his father, and probably never will, to be honest. But each year, he did remember him, his person, the sire he never knew. What do they, the living, serve if not to remember the memory of those who are lost forever? </p><p> </p><p>He had cursed him, once or twice. ‘by the time he found out about a living sibling, cursing him was pointless.’ For he felt nothing and everything. But hate, <em>no</em>, he certainly didn’t feel <em>hate</em>. He had let those feelings behind, in the past. And, <em>if I look back I am lost.</em> While he will always, <em>always</em>, gonna love them, his mother Elia and his big sister Rhaenys; they were gone, have always been, for his mind was foggy. Doran Martell and Arianne had told him as much as they could, and no imaginative picture could match a real, pure, memory of them. <em>Never</em>. </p><p><br/>
As of his father... Jon Connington seldom spoke of the Last Dragon, half of his group never met him. Lemore was the only one who ‘from time to time’, while sipping some tea, would share a story or two, narrated by some fallen Sword of the Morning, getting lost in her past life. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>If you want to know how he looked like</em>,” the Septa said, dark violet eyes piercing through him. “<em>Stare at the mirror, child. That shall be enough. You had but a drop of dornish in you. Princess Rhaenys was of our blood, the blood of Nymeria. When you were a babe at the breast, you looked like Prince Oberyn. As you grew older, the ghost of Rhaegar took possession of you.</em>” <strong><em>Was it good or was it bad? <br/>
</em></strong></p><p> </p><p>And, most importantly, was it <em>sane</em> to miss someone who’s only connection to him was by stories the people liked to tell, when the weight of their actions fell lightly on their shoulders from time to time? <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>It <em>saddened</em> him, greatly. In the dead on the night, Arya curled against him, he has thought of it. “<em>Why me? Why I was so different? Why me and not <strong>her?</strong></em>” For it was easier done than said to smuggler a dark haired child over a silver-looking one. Deep down, he knew why. “<em>Because I had one thing she hadn’t. A cock.”</em></p><p> </p><p>He thought she was in a soundless sleep, but eavesdropping as ever, the little she-wolf heard him. “<em>True</em>,” she said, hand tracing his breast. “<em>You were destined for <strong>greatness</strong> since the beginning. We don’t always know why bad things happen, well, I don’t care for I will drench my hands in blood soon; but if I hadn’t escaped the guards that day,</em> <em>I would have ended as a hostage to the Lannisters, probably <strong>dead</strong> by now</em>.” He wanted to refute, to feel guilty again. Someone has to, and that person was him when everyone else was either buried or a mute. The next day, news from Westeros came with the wind. It claimed that some Arya Stark has married a <em>Bolton</em> <em>bastard</em>. And the real Arya Stark was perched at his side, raising a brow half-amused half-angered, with a look of ‘I told you so, pretty boy. You should listen to me.’ </p><p> </p><p>They reached Summerhall days later. Arya seemed overly excited. Her short hair in all directions. Aegon had put the famous blue dye again, eyes juxtaposing the amethyst glow. “<em>Slow down, child,</em>” He mocked her when the girl ran through twigs and foliage and big sharp-edged stones. Nature has swallowed the ruins of this blackened and discolored castle, half standing, half buried. “<em>We don’t want you to fall, do we?</em>” Arya had made an unladylike gesture with her fingers. “<em>It would be a shame if you fall and split your head open. I have healed wounds, but I am not miracle maester.” <br/>
</em></p><p> </p><p>“<em>You wish, Aegon the stupid.</em>” </p><p> </p><p>He rolled his eyes. The people were calling him ‘Aegon the Dragon’ he wondered if they would call his aunt ‘Daenerys the Dragon too’. <em>Well, she does have titles, many to have a pick.</em> Griff the Young wasn’t that awe-inspiring, nor respected. Being the ‘Prince of Dragonstone’ however, was too old fashioned for someone who was a King claimant. He was causing a revolution, at least he needed something of the sort, to match it. ‘Not Egg’.</p><p> </p><p>A quarter of an hour later, they were sitting on a wall, one they climbed, feet hanging. A strong gust of wind could end their lives, and therefore, their lines. <em>Danger</em> was a feeling that has always crawled with them. In their own perspectives, of course. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>So you used to do this as a child?</em>” </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Ah, yes. Back at Winterfell, though not daily. Only when I wanted to scare the Septa Mordane, insufferable woman. Would always complained about my crooked stitching in the embroidery. Eventually, as any other, I reached a breaking point and one day I snapped at her, not politely, not at all. She ran to my mother, throwing herself at her feet. I had no excuses, and my sister and her friends would only</em> <strong><em>giggle</em></strong>. <em>I tried to hide, but lady Catelyn knew where to find me. Her and, apparently, all the castle folk. I climbed the trees of the Godswood, and came face to face with my baby brother Bran. He <strong>taught</strong> me.”</em></p><p> </p><p>Aegon put a hand under his chin, knees against his chest. “<em>How did he knew?” <br/>
<br/>
</em></p><p> </p><p>Arya smiled sadly. He saw her struggle to speak<em>. “I don’t know. He was a good climber, Bran... He could see anything from the heights. You wouldn’t even notice that his eyes were on you, but he <strong>saw</strong> everyone. I can’t fathom how he fell from the tower. I have my guesses, suspicions. Our common enemy.” <br/>
</em></p><p> </p><p>Aegon nodded, surprised. There were many things he didn’t know. Dark things. </p><p> </p><p>She waved a hand. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Anyway, I only hid for as most as I could. And they eventually found me past supper time. Robb and Jon and Sansa, they told my father where I was. Lord Eddard took me by the hand and carried me away. My mother was probably thirsting for my blood. He never yelled, never looked disappointed of me. He wasn’t even angry. He was sad, you know? Maybe a little melancholic, as if I remembered him of someone he knew. Now, I know why, as do you. I have always known, and back at that time, I tried to be the perfect lady. I even pretended to show an inclination to the arts of music when, clearly, the only thing I longed for was a bow and arrows and beat Bran. He was terrible at it. I was better. But couldn’t, because ‘Tis was improper.’ The mummery only lasted a week, long enough for my mother to think that I had corrected my manners. I tried not to act like Lyanna when, well, I was her spitting image. Old Nan said that I had more than a drop of wolf-blood in me, more than Lyanna ever did. I only pretended to be something else because she made father sad... A moon’s turn later, Robert Baratheon made his visit.” <br/>
</em></p><p> </p><p>Arya was so enchanted by the past that she didn’t notice how enchanted he was by her. </p><p> </p><p>The wind howled softly, brushing her short mismatched dark tresses and her unique forehead bangs. Septa Lemore had led her some dresses, for her dismay, and she wore one of grey and white wool, up to the neck. Her skin was as tanned as him, a consequence of the unforgiving sun of Essos. Her clear grey eyes were downcast, set on her lap. <em>She is sad.</em> And he felt as if a hammer had crushed his chest. The irony of the situation. She breathed the air, petals of dyed flowers hooting, or maybe it was the tune of Summerhall, haunted beyond repair.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>What are you thinking about...</em>” She called for him. “<em>Aegon</em>.” </p><p> </p><p>“Aegon...” Blinking, he looked at her face, poured by darkness, illuminated only by the evanescent glow of an amber, black-hot. “What are you thinking about?” Her eyes were sharp as her bare small form. </p><p> </p><p>His eyes watered. He could count with his fingers the number of times he had cried. Yet this girl evoked such absurd feelings from him, selfish feelings, what at the end, makes him an ordinary human. </p><p> </p><p>“Marry me. Marry me, Arya.” </p><p> </p><p>If not by her confession, he would’ve expected rejection. </p><p> </p><p>She smiled, fondly. “I will. Gods, what’s wrong with me?” She blinked the tears away. “Blame your child, stupid. <em>He</em> has made me soft.” </p><p> </p><p>Aegon grinned. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“He?” <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Aye. I am confident in it, thank you very much.” Aegon nestled her face and then leaned, kissing her slowly. “I always knew you were clingy! Look at you, crying like a babe. Should I fetch a handkerchief, Your Grace?” </p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Arya”</p><p> </p><p>”I don’t think I ever will.” </p><p> </p><p>He stared at her for a long moment. “Wait, so that means that you are accepting a rather, very much, upcoming, extravagant wedding? A coronation, and merriment and dancing and dresses? The role of Queen?”</p><p> </p><p>She huffed. “The things I do for love. And <em>yes</em>, I do. But only for you and Jon, and our little niece.” She gave him a poignant look. “You will come face to face eventually, Aegon. You’ll have to meet his little girl. Again, I found myself asking how the seed is that strong? Dark haired Targaryens are not a rare thing considering a dark haired parent. The babe is a small, fragile version of Queen Daenerys, I suppose, if not for the eyes.” Yes, he had a niece, and a brother who didn’t expect nor wanted anything from him, at the least. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s complicated.” </p><p> </p><p>“You know it isn’t. You are both fools.” She sighed. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“A fool who’s in love with you,” he added, drawing her to his chest. </p><p> </p><p>“Then I’m a bigger fool,” She stared up at him, then wrinkled her nose. “No, you are dumber.” <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>He missed her. But now, he won’t have to. Won’t ever have to, he hoped. They’ve made a bond stronger than blood. Both he and Arya had created a live together. Yes, the Martells will be displeased, but they don’t have an opinion in his life, he was a grown man. The family he longed for since he was old enough to wish, will come true. He was not the <em>last</em> Dragon. His ghosts could rest in peace now.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I may be thinking of doing a continuation, kind of prequel? But I have a modern au and many rhaelya stories, and also I’m kind of in depression for my most beloved character of aot.<br/>Also, I saw a fanart about an older Arya with short hair and fangs and I got the feels like wow...<br/>So... See you later!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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